


Snowflakes and Fangirls

by writingtoomuchfanfiction



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Baz likes cats, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Simon has wings and a tail, Simon's a mess, i'll add more characters according to the chapters that appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5258405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingtoomuchfanfiction/pseuds/writingtoomuchfanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plotline entirely designed by wherever ideas take you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. going through hell and looking the part [intro]

**Author's Note:**

> author: galaxy-on-canvas.tumblr.com

**Simon**

 

         I wake up to a yell. I shudder, cold sweat dripping down the back of my neck, and yank my shirt off, flinging the soft grey material into a laundry hamper by the edge of the closet. My chest is heaving, my hair is sticky with sweat, I can hear Penny waking up in the next room over- here it is again, two in the morning and the clock’s flashing and my life’s flashing under my eyelids every time I come close to sleep. I don’t turn on the light- I don’t want to see the sheets tangled around my legs again, or my laptop discarded on my desk after I had turned in my biology essay late.

       Restoration ecology. Restorative, even if rest itself is a distant dream. I pull my knees up to my chest, wondering- not for the first time- what Baz does, alone in his flat, when he has nightmares. It’s difficult to talk to him about such things- he encounters fear in an entirely different way, every time the lights go out. Fitting. I’m scared of the light, and he’s scared of the dark (so much for a hero and a villain). The red letters on the clock are insistent, pulsing, a reminder of split arteries and pernicious lies, Baz’s voice in a forest fire and burnt-out corpses, a furious inferno a deeper red than the leathery underside of my wings. Shut up. I can feel blood on my hands and the sensation evaporates into mist when I rub them over my temples and through my hair. Shut up. My breath latches in the back of my throat as it used to before I went off, but I’m no firecracker now; my gunpowder is damp with London rain and the lights have faded into powder glows in my eyes. Shut up. One more discordant breath, as if I’m submerged in venom.

       I throw my pillow at the stupid alarm clock with its stupid red lights and the overhead light flicks on. I recoil, blinking away the intrusion that feels like flash burns in my eyes. Penny stands at the threshold of my bedroom, her spectacles balanced precariously over her nose framing squinted eyes. I give my clock, which has fallen against the closet door with a crash, a guilty look; I pick up my pillow as if nothing’s happened. “I heard you yell,” I mumble by way of apology. “It startled me.”

      “That was you,” Penny responds wearily. She twists her ring, and I don’t know what to say to her, standing half in my bedroom wearing polka-dotted pyjama pants and a brightly coloured t-shirt. There’s pity on her face, clear as day. I’m sick to death of pity from Penny and Baz- whether it be my loss of magik or the endless battle against my seemingly innocent wings, now pity focused upon nightmares. I’m not surprised that I was the one who yelled. I don’t argue. Of all people, Baz should be the most deserving of pity- he’s alone in his flat waging a war on his own diet, but Baz has always been the independent one. Christ, the boy showed up eight weeks late to school with Starbucks in one hand and unrequited obsession in the other. He can take care of himself. Why can’t I? “Come on, we’re both awake now,” she sighs, and walks into the kitchen, turning on the lamp hanging over the counter.

      I hesitate, then follow her. Why not? It’s not as if I’m going to fall asleep again, even though the nightmare’s memory is already fading. All that remains is the rancorous residue of blood seared into my senses, and I head for the fridge, pulling out a can of something carbonated and cracking it open. The room is silent but for the sound of the drink settling and Penny unwrapping a bar of white chocolate. I taste lemon in the pop when I sip it, and I wish it had alcohol. Not that I drink- I don’t- but if I did, I’d be intoxicated by now, plunging into a steady pattern of irresponsibility. “I finished the essay in time,” I mention, and though it’s inconsequential, perhaps this is what we need- prosaic routine until our hearts stop beating as if we’re sprinting (we are, though, we’re running and running and running) and grocery shopping can be a sweet taste of normalcy instead of an insipid chore.

 

**Baz**

 

       My phone used to baffle me, and now it’s becoming a necessity, an anchor- I no longer wake up with defensive spells on my lips and my wand in my hand from panic’s overwhelming suffocation; my tachycardia heart slows in response to the quiet sounds of rainfall or the oscillation of waves dancing across my senses, earbuds on, volume turned loud when the world turned quiet.

       I’ve had to change my phone lock screen from Simon’s face to a photograph of a stray cat that lurks around the building at all hours of the night, a jet black cat with jade green eyes. Unlocking the door and stumbling inside at two in the morning after waking up hungry, I can’t look at Simon’s face- not while my fangs have only just receded. The cat is cunning and wary; Snow is conflagrant confidence etched across a sunbeam sky, retaining an innocence I can’t kiss away. I have a feeling heaven will accept the brat no matter what his sexuality is. My soul is damned already, but I won’t die and give hell the satisfaction- I’ve tried already, he’ll always find me, because he’s Simon bloody Snow and he gets what he wants (he had me long before he even knew he wanted me).

      I’m exhausted, no matter how much I’ve had to drink. There’s butcher’s shops all over London that sell blood, it’s a city of a thousand cultures and half the world seems to use it as a cooking ingredient- I’ve thought about that often. It’s not enough for a vampire, but if it’s food, I can take it with me to eat in breaks when I leave for the day.

     I collapse into bed, letting the cool pillow take over my thoughts- just for now, just for a while- and pull a sheet over my shoulders, eyelids fluttering closed. If it will save me from spinning thoughts, I will welcome sleep with open arms, drowning out the voice in the back of my head wondering whether I’d closed the door.

 

 

 


	2. nightmares and the world is spinning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author: myrosebudboy.tumblr.com

**BAZ**

I wake up to the familiar feeling of nausea in my stomach, and I try to hold it in, like I always do. But it never works, and I stumble to the bathroom, nearly slamming headfirst into the door, and I barely make it to the basin before everything comes back up.

It pours down the drain, red and clumpy, and my vision is blurred and I feel so limp and useless and all I can think is that this shouldn’t be happening.

It really shouldn’t. A vampire doesn’t tend to vomit. We don’t even tend to fall ill. But I know why I’ve been throwing up.

I’ve been feeling so empty, and that sounds so dramatic, but when you’re watching blood pour down the drain at three in the morning and you can’t eat around people because your bloody (hah) fangs will slide out, everything is dramatic.

I’m alone in London, and Simon has gone to university to get a proper degree. He always says it like the word burns his tongue, because no one ever says it, but we all know he has to try to get a mundane job among the Normals if he wants to live independently. And Simon Snow is the most stubborn idiot I’ve ever had the questionable misfortune to meet, so of course he decided to go to university and get the stupid, stupid degree. (Restorative Ecology. I’ll never understand him, but I suppose if anyone has a reason to study Restorative Ecology, it’s Simon.)

We both have nightmares around each other, and without each other. They’re worse when we’re together, and it becomes a tiptoeing around each other, almost like a guard schedule. He sleeps at night and I sleep in the day and we don’t ever know what to do with ourselves. I don’t know what to do with his grief and he doesn’t know what to do with my pity and it’s like we’re both scared to make another move.

I’ve got a job on the weekdays, and I’m so exhausted when I get home that I just flick the lights on and collapse onto my bed. On weekends, I have nothing to do, and I wander aimlessly around the house, and it’s so empty and so hollow that it hits a little too close to home with the shell I feel like I am. So I drink blood and eat normal portions of food which is too much for a vampire because some part of me has some animalistic, instinctive need to fill the hollow shell of myself up with anything I can. And so I eat without thinking, and I vomit at night. It’s a cycle that I don’t know how to stop.

I turn on as many lights as I can around the house and I lie awake staring at the ceiling until I fall asleep.

The electricity bill shoots up, but I don’t really notice.


End file.
